


Rehearsals

by anonymousmadame2911



Series: The Blue Hippo and the Pink Pussycat [10]
Category: Chris Evans (actor) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Stripper Reader, burlesque reader, burlesque routine, lap dance, studio rehearsals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 09:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19422877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousmadame2911/pseuds/anonymousmadame2911
Summary: angst





	Rehearsals

During the day, you had ramped up your rehearsals. You wanted to smooth out any kinks in your champagne flute routine. Over the weekends, clients booked you for private shows. You used them as a testing ground to see which moves worked best on your target audience. You didn’t want your routine to be for the straight male gaze only. You wanted women to enjoy it and perform it too. You rolled up to the Blue Hippo on Friday, with a few new nude costumes with different colored crystals sewn into them. You would video tape your performances this weekend and play them back to see how they would read on screen. Since your bust-up with Chris, you focused on your work. Men ain’t shit. That had been proven time and again not only at the Blue Hippo, but especially at the Pink Pussycat. You developed new routines. You improved your techniques where you knew you were weak. Tap usually. But tonight, you were ready to feel that champagne on your skin. The manager informed you that you had been booked up both nights. You check the VIP room to make sure that all the glasses had been cleaned and set up. All the tables looked nice. You were ready to go. The opening chords of your song weaved through the room and you sauntered out. Fuck it if it wasn’t Chris sitting there by himself. You were pissed. Who invited him? You would finish your dance, but you would make him suffer in the mean time. You danced for him. It was the best performance of your life, with a few extra touches here and there that weren’t in the original routine. He stared at you like a starving man looking at the best burger he had ever seen. 

“So you…uh…you….uh….you changed up your routine?”

Silence.

“Yup.”

“Uh…so…I see you…uh…added…a…lap dance?”

Silence.

“Yup.”

You twirled off of him, dipped his glass in the champagne and handed it to him. 

“Do…you…uh…do you…uh…wanna join…me?”

Silence.

You roll your eyes and walk back stage. You take your time changing out of your costume. You retrieve the video camera from the VIP room to see him still in there. You don’t say a word to him. You bring the camera back stage and wait for him to leave. Once you see him leave, you quickly lock up and head to the Pink Pussycat for your next shift. 

At the Pink Pussycat, you feel you can breathe. You relax and stop looking over your shoulder for Chris. You’re sure that by now he got the message. He’d be a fool not to. 

“You ready?”

“Not yet. I got a dance?”

“Yeah. Good-looking guy too. He’s been here a few times.”

“A regular?”

“Uh…no…but I definitely recognize him. He’s in the back booth. Table number 53.”

“I’ll grab him in about 5 minutes. Thanks.”

You put on your black latex bikini top and your matching boy shorts. You slip into your Lucite heels that bring you from 5’6” to an even 6’. You strut onto the floor with your hair swinging behind you. You head to table 53 and see the thick shoulder and baseball cap. It’s not until you’re completely in front of him that you recognize him. 

“You.”

“Hi.”

“Did you book a dance?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re wasting your time and money.”

“Look. I just wanna talk for 5 minutes.”

“You booked a dance. Not therapy. So, I’m going to give you a dance and you can go.”

He let out a deep sigh and followed you with slumped shoulders. You were definitely going to torture him now. 

“Remember the rules? No touching the dancers. The dancers can touch you. And always tip your dancer.”

He hooks his thumbs in his belt loops. You give him a damn amazing lap dance. You feel his grunts against your neck, his hardness in between your legs. You revel in what you do to him, showing him what he will never ever have again.   
“I thought you were going to stop dancing?”

Silence.

“I never said that…why would I do that?”

“Well…it’s just that…you got that contract…and…uh…”

“I can’t afford to quit. I haven’t secured the bag. That’s why I got two jobs. And with you fucking up my career, I better stick to what I already got.”

You get up and leave. The manager tells you that he’s booked more dances with you. You beg off, telling him that you’re exhausted tonight. You hide back stage and peek through the curtains. You see him leave the club. Maybe he’s finally gotten the point. You check your phone. No new messages. No new voicemails. This is it. You feel your heart begin to break. You conflated your fantasy of who Chris Evans was with the reality. You got the reality check you desperately needed. You need a pick-me-up. A night with the girls to make you feel better. A catch-up. You go out with Lucy and Sasha. The clubbing, bar hopping, gossiping, and dancing all help you get your mind off of Chris. You dance until you shut down the clubs. Guys are buying you drinks and shots all night. You’re wasted by the time you call it a night and head home.

Monday, you’re ready for rehearsal at the studio. You have brought 5 different costumes. You watched the routine you recorded several times. No mistakes. You’re watching the crew set up the giant champagne flute when Chris steps up next to you out of nowhere. 

“Can I talk to you over here?”

“No.”

You walk over to the flute to screw it down to the pedestal. You turn and walk off to the costume room, blatantly ignoring Chris. You look at the racks of clothes and he comes in behind you. 

“Please. Just 5 minutes.”

“Not even for 1 minute.” You hiss in a low voice. 

You are very aware that there are a number of cast and crew around who could hear you. This is not the reputation you want in the industry. You want to be a professional. What pushes you over the edge is his hang-dog look.

“You’ve wasted enough of my life. You have potentially fucked up my career. My livelihood. You come uninvited to my work place. The answer is no. Learn to take no for an answer.” 

By now, you are angry, frustrated and pissed off. You’re crying and it’s tears of frustration, but you hate that you’re crying. You don’t want him to think of you as weak or emotional. You have had enough. 

“It must be nice to be a hot white guy with a decent amount of money and mediocre talent. You get everything you want in a society that privileges you. You want to show that you’re invested in me? Let me fight my own battles. Let me decide MY future myself.”

You want to be sure he gets the point. You’re not sure he does. You’ve noticed that the costume room has quietly cleared out. There’s no one there but you and him. Even though you’ve spoken in a low voice, it has a distinctive hiss to it.

“You have this white savior complex. But, you don’t know when to make a scene. Where were you when the Ferguson protests were going down? We could’ve used you on the front lines. But you didn’t say shit. Then, you make a scene when you shouldn’t. Why didn’t you fight for Spencer to have a larger role in Gifted?” 

Silence. 

“Why are most of your movies white-only casts?” 

Silence. 

“In Before You Go, YOU directed that movie. YOU could have had a diverse cast. Instead, you had some snow bunny playing the love interest. Snowpiercer. All white people. Not Another Teen Movie. All white. Puncture. All white. Do you fetishize black women? Are we your kink? Is that what this is? I’m your dirty little secret?”

Silence. 

“Delete my number.”

You’ve had enough of the bullshit posturing and white activism. You walk off.


End file.
